18 Don't Give Up on Me
by PeechTao -Ezra Cross
Summary: He has quit SHIELD, quit the Avengers, now Clint Barton must stay under the radar as he hunts down the mysterious members of the Blackstone corporation. To everyone in the world he has become a dead beat ex-hero, only do his close friends realize the truth. But Clint realizes he needs help. Unable to recruit his fellow Avengers, he asks the local web-slinger for a hand. New! Whump!
1. Prologue

**Author Note: ** _If You are a new reader, WELCOME! This is my Amazing Avengers Arc! Introducing BOOK 18 in the story arc: Spider Hawk (title may be in the works!) If you want to catch up on the story line thus far, just cruise over to my Author Profile and catch up via the SHIELD MISSION BRIEF: Hawkeye background. all the information you need is tucked right in there. All returning customers, thank you so very much for the loyalty. this one is for you:)_

**Disclaimer:**_ despite the many assumptions that I wrote Thor: The Dark World and most of the Agents of SHIELD episodes and the ending to Captain America 2, these are unfounded. I am simply an amazingly good guesser and these works are the products of my own imagination with all rights reserved by Marvel._

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**Don't Give Up on Me  
**

Prologue

He knew she would track him down eventually. Pepper Potts had as many resources, to find a missing person, as all of SHIELD, AIM, Stark Industries, and Centipede combined. Beyond all those, she had friends in high places, a worldwide defense network at her fingertips, women's intuition, and perhaps the deadliest of all: favors. Clint Barton knew full well, when he left the Avengers and SHIELD behind, that Pepper would come looking for him.

Thanksgiving morning found Clint sleeping under a park bench on the north end of the Steel Pier in Atlantic City. As the sun poked its glaring head into the sky, disturbing his heavy slumber, the former Avenger rolled onto his side to avoid the light. Arrow slept on his back beside him. Both of their coats worked to melt the dust of early season snow the coming winter dumped on them. Neither had bathed in at least ten days, and Clint had been wearing the same clothes for longer than that. They were dirty, cold, wet, and virtually homeless.

"Why did you leave?"

Clint heard the voice questioning him, but ignored the speaker. A few men had approached him, over the last two weeks, about why a man like him would ever pick a fight with Iron Man himself, let alone willingly quit the Avengers to live a life of utter drunken poverty. He didn't want to answer again, not this early in the morning.

"Clint? Come on, can't I just take you home?"

A woman's voice proved new. He wondered if it was one of the Atlantic City civil service people come to invite him into their shelter for a bath and hot meal. His stomach growled at the prospect. Maybe he should wake up.

"Don't just lay there!"

Barton rolled slightly to throw a look over his shoulder. Seeing Pepper Potts woke him up faster than gunshots could. He shot forward, bashing his head on the underside of the bench. At his instinctive recoil, he managed to elbow Arrow. The wolf snorted, and shuffled awake. The moment he saw Pepper, he shot to his feet in unbridled excitement.

"Pepper!" Clint exclaimed.

Arrow thumped around on the boardwalk with four bounding paws. He crashed his body against Pepper's pinstriped pencil skirt and white blouse. If Clint didn't know any better, he'd assume she just happened to be in the neighborhood for a business meeting and dropped by his bench to greet him.

"Yeah, Pepper, you big old jerk!" She shot at him. "You don't call, you don't write, you don't even send me a text! You just take off and don't say a thing and, Clint, you grew a beard... and you smell!"

Clint extracted himself from beneath his bench as she ranted at him. He noticed, at once, she was not alone. Happy came, no doubt to keep an eye on her in the often shifty city. Beyond his enforcement, three suits Clint didn't recognize stood around as well. Whether Pepper knew it or not, four others, most likely SHIELD agents, hid along the casino fronts up and down the wooden boardwalk. This was not a good situation.

"Pepper, stop yelling." The archer warned.

"And Tony doesn't even tell me what started it all. He doesn't say anything at all. And everyone's acting like it never happened and – "

The three agents with Happy were armed. At least one of them, Clint decided, he did not trust. Perhaps it was the way the guy glanced around and knew about the others. Barton had to get out of there before the men converged on him, or worse, used Pepper against him.

"I'm not talking about this." Clint said harshly. He knew it sounded mean to her. She couldn't understand his reasons for leaving, and he did not plan to go into the details in the present company.

"Oh, yes, you are! It took me all this time to find you, Clint, and now that I'm here, you are not just going to brush me off. Talk to me! Tony hurt you, the team let you down, just help me understand what we can do to make a difference. Please, I thought – "

Clint's expression must have changed. Pepper, or women in general, were a kryptonite for him. Natasha wooed him with her intensity. His old flame, Bobbi Morse, had an intensity he couldn't explain, and the attitude of a firecracker. When it came to Pepper, he saw her as a sister. She was, now at least, the fiancé of his best friend, and it took Clint getting nearly tortured to death to bring Tony and her closer than ever. When he left, Clint had just finished working out seating arrangements with her for the reception.

"Talk to me." She pleaded. The dam began to break. She knew how much she meant to him, and held no reservations about holding that reverence to her advantage.

As Clint's mind began to change, as some part of him burst to tell her everything and hold nothing back, something new moved into his perfect peripheral vision. No longer were there only four extraneous SHIELD agents hiding in the wings. He could see another three, one of which shouldered a sniper rifle, on the marquee of Caesar's Palace. How could he know which of them to trust? If Clint caved now, if anyone saw the soft spot he held for Tony's girl, then they may have no trouble taking her here and now. He had to leave before he got in too deep, and before Pepper ended up dead because of him.

"No." Clint said, taking his eyes off the sniper. He returned them with intensity to the red head. This was going to hurt.

"Why not?! I'm standing right here. I'm sorry. For everyone I'm – "

"No." Clint added with emphasis.

"Please – "

"Why didn't they come?" Clint's mind began firing with excitement. The rifle was now trained on them. He had to get as much distance between himself and her as possible.

"Tony just – "

"Just didn't show. He didn't show now, like he didn't show then. You know why? Because he didn't care. I told them I would check in. When I don't, they know to be concerned. Five days! I was tortured for five days, and they never even knew it, Pepper!"

She took half a step away from him, her face turning pale. She didn't expect the ferocity he hit her with. Even Happy, surprised by his hostility, came forward to stand beside her.

"But, Clint, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't, because you aren't a part of my life. I don't know what you think we have, Pepper, but imagining that you can just come down here, and uproot me just to drag me back there is crazy. We aren't family. We aren't even friends. We tolerate each other because we have to. And guess what!" He held up his hands and let them fall at his sides. "I decided that I don't have too."

Her face went impossibly paler. Beside her, Happy approached him.

"Hey, look, Hawk. I know it's not my business, but I've been around all of you long enough to know you _do_ care. I don't know what kind of act this is, but you are hurting your friends. Your _good_ friends."

Happy. Clint didn't plan on such candor from the head of security. It touched him, but at the same time infuriated him. Here, the ex-agent was trying everything he could to save their hides by getting rid of them, and Happy guilt trips him like this? All of Clint's frustrations turned into a single, proverbial, piercing arrow directed right at the man.

"Don't try that with me! Don't think that guilting me will change a thing! I gave my life to that team, and to SHIELD, and you know what I want? I want my own life back, and I don't need to ask anyone to let me do that. So stop tailing me. Stop trying to fix me. Stop thinking that I'm someone you can just talk down and save. I'm done wasting my life on people."

"But, Clint!" Pepper cried.

"I spent my life trying to save people who never deserved it. First my parents, then my own brother, even my mentor Trick Shot. I found a new life with Phil and what does SHIELD do? Fake his death, and then took him away from me. And even Coulson didn't go against it! I'm over it. The only person who never lets me down is me and my dog. So do me a big favor, and get out of my life."

Clint turned away from them. He could see, from the stunned looks on their faces, that this time he said enough. To save Pepper and Happy, he had to destroy every good image they held of him. With a signal to Arrow, Clint started off down the boardwalk. He passed the waiting SHIELD agents, and the hidden ones as well. No one tried to stop him. Not anymore. Clint Barton was alone at last.

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Oh the feels! I'm not quite finished writing this story, but i at least wanted to give you guys a taste of what I've been up to.

Please review! and how about alternate Title ideas?


	2. Chapter 1

Peter Parker Anyone?

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_Chapter 1_

He leaned against the pole of the turn-styles by the Rail 5 Metro Station. The smell of urine from the various foot traffic, rat and human alike, offended his already sensible nose. When he could, Clint Barton preferred to avoid subways. He never had a good track record with underground areas in his past, and willingly entering a tunnel with decidedly few escape routes always made him uncomfortable. A little over a year ago, Loki and he squared off in just such a setting; the memory brought a mix of adrenaline and chills to Clint's body.

It took little over an hour to make the journey from his Harlem apartment, to the other side of Queen's East Chester-Dyre Ave. Not that he had time to spare, exactly, but Clint wasn't totally certain where to find the man he came to track down. So he worked carefully. Covering his tracks also ate away at his self-imposed schedule.

Weeks passed since the infamous face-off between Tony Stark and Hawkeye, but that didn't mean all of his pursuers were willing to give up tailing him. He had to switch trains twice at Kew Gardens, ending up heading West instead of East, then walked back to the next station to take the East bound train toward Coney Island. He changed clothes once, and installed a Yankees ball cap low over his eyes, before waiting at the turn style for his quarry. The wait gave him time to think, and time to think meant one conversation only circled his brain.

_Clint drew an arrow from his quiver, aiming for Stark's heart. "Shut up! That's all you do! You know what, Stark, maybe for once, I'd like to have a life and not just be some stooge for SHIELD, or Cap, or you! . . . I had everything, and you just took it away from me!"_

_The hurt in Tony's eyes cut through even Clint's prepared heart._

_The Iron Man tried to plead with him. "That world wasn't real! I'm real, Clint, and I found you and brought you home! Bruce and I both fought hard to get you back, and how do you decide to thank us? Like this?"_

_"You know what would have stopped this? You, actually showing up, and saving someone who mattered. We're friends, Tony! Where are you when I need you? The one time I need someone else to bail me out, and where were you? You didn't even know I was gone! SHIELD would have left me there to die! If Captain America wasn't there, would you have even come to find me?"_

_"Well, maybe next time you should get yourself out of danger, and leave the damsel in distress routine to people who aren't trying to be drug addicts."_

_"I'm done." Clint said quietly._

_"What do you mean you're done?" Tony demanded._

_"I mean, I'm out."_

_"So what? You quit SHIELD, and now you're quitting us? Just like that . . . You can't quit! Hawkeye, don't – "_

_"I'm not Hawkeye. Not anymore."_

A buzzer went off overhead, and the mass of people moved forward as one. The West End Metro pulled into the station. After dumping a load of off-going passengers, those waiting for the journey back to Manhattan began boarding. The crowd thinned considerably as Clint continued to wait. The East bound would arrive in a few minutes behind the West. He bet that Peter Parker would jump the turn style just in time to catch it.

He pushed off of the wall, dusting the sleeve of his long black overcoat against whatever New York grime clung to him. He noticed three pickpockets working over the oblivious Prada purse owner three or four pillars down from him. If they came his way, he planned to pick them back, but considering his need to keep a low profile, the likelihood of him helping was low. On his right, an old man added to the stench dribbling down the walls. He had his pants around his ankles, and an officer already had one hand in cuffs.

Ahhh...New York.

The buzzer went off for the East bound, and Clint strode forward with the group of people waiting in the line. He considered the few different ways this introduction could go. The first, might be too obvious. Throwing himself in front of the Metro, in hopes that an undercover Spider-Man would save him, seemed too desperate a plea for help. And if anyone caught the act on camera, they may link Clint's face, and the webbed crusader together. That would not do. His other option, was to be an aggressor; cornering the young Parker in a crowded car, clearing the area with a smoke arrow, and then attempt to have a gentlemanly conversation. That, too, he eliminated for much of the same reasons.

As Clint stepped up to the faded yellow and black caution line, he took another sweep of the room. The Prada woman discovered a hand in her purse and had whipped out a can of mace. The drunk on the right, now had both hands in cuffs, and no still pants. A gangly young man flew down the Metro stairs, frantically jabbing his ticket into the turn style in order to make the train on time.

The gangly man had a mess of brown hair crowning over his head in haphazard tufts. A massive set of headphones, perhaps meant more to keep out the world than to provide considerable sound quality, hung around his neck and connected to the cell phone he thumbed through. Clint recognized his face from the old SHIELD files he once helped compile, and easily put a name to him, Peter Parker.

Clint took note of the subway car Peter crossed into. When the chime sounded for last boarding call, the undercover agent eased into the same car. The first stop would come soon, within the next ten minutes. If Parker planned to get off there, Barton had little time in which to make contact.

The rail car remained relatively empty, save for an older woman five rows away, and three men sitting in a trio, busting a few oral hip hop beats in the train acoustics. Clint stayed on his feet for the first few minutes of the ride, assessed the area, and finally he stepped forward.

"Parker, right?" He asked offhandedly.

The teen had been absorbed in the text messages on his cell phone, one headphone cocked over his right ear. At Clint's words, his eyes shot up a little. He wasn't an unattractive youth. His thin face matched the disarming spindly quality of his physique. A set of square glasses perched on the arch of his nose, not unlike how Banner wore his. Their presence gave him an austere look that further dispelled anyone's attempts to call him out as a caped crusader. Just like Bruce Banner, Clint knew these lenses were just for show. Spider-Man had better-than perfect vision.

"Depends." The teen asked, pulling his glasses off. "Who's asking?"

"An old acquaintance." Clint smiled a little. He liked a kid who didn't trust easily.

Peter flicked a key on his cell phone and slowly returned it to his pocket while his other hand took off the headphone so it may swing around his neck again. His eyes didn't remove from their search of Clint's person. No doubt he recognized the Avenger, but had trouble understanding where from. Clint could see the sudden realization hit like a bolt of Thor's lightning. The incognito Spider-Man leaned forward, and spied around at their fellow travelers. As of yet, no one paid them any mind. Staying cautious, he closed in even more and lowered his voice.

"Um, actually, I think the intro you were looking for had a lot more flying arrows, Mr. Hawkeye."

The archer nodded, not disagreeing. He indicated the open seat beside Parker, and gathered his long coat up to sit. He readjusted the ball cap over his longer grown hair and kept his eyes on the man, the floor, or his hands. Cars this far back typically had at least one security camera with no voice over included. This car, in particular, hadn't been serviced for the past year, according to the service tag he noted on the door arch. The quality was likely to be grainy at best.

"Not Hawkeye. Not anymore." He said quietly.

To that, Peter didn't respond. He had no doubt seen the epic fall out, as had everyone else in the modern world. Hawkeye and Iron Man exchanged shots, words, and parted ways as near enemies, all in one fell swoop. All of New York went looking for the elusive Hawkeye who quit SHIELD and the Avengers. A few people found him sleeping under park benches, or brown bagging liquor. He even allowed a group of punks to rob him of the three dollar bus fare he accrued from panhandling at a gas station. For all the world knew, Hawkeye was a loner, a loser, and had given up on ever being a hero again.

"So I heard you were good with a camera. Any truth in that?" Clint asked.

"I don't get why that matters to you." Peter continued to stare at him, no doubt in an attempt to use his, not inconsiderable, skills to ferret out some ulterior motive Barton had for asking.

"Humor me."

The Metro's breaks squealed as the cars rounded a turn. The overhead lights flickered briefly. Soon, the first stop would interrupt their little talk.

"Ok, then yeah. But, I don't get it."

Clint turned toward him slightly, raising an eyebrow.

"You quit SHIELD, the Avengers, and now, all of a sudden, you track me down off work hours and ask me that? Why? What gives? Everyone said you left New York."

"Everyone?"

"That's what the tabloids say."

"Oh, well, they know everything."

"They got a nice shot of you, with a bottle of Jack Daniels, under a carriage in Central Park."

"It was single malt, and I was sleeping on the ground before the carriage got there."

The lights flickered again. The brakes screamed as the tunnel walls peeled away to reveal the closest station track. Soon, the doors would open. Clint had to get out. Surely his two agency tails weren't far behind him, and if they caught up to his car number, they may chance at finding Peter. He got to his feet.

"Look, Parker, don't trust everything you read in the papers. I need someone to do camera work for me. If you want the job," Clint extracted a thin piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. "Find this address tonight. If you don't, I get it. But, do me a favor and flush the note."

The car pulled to a full stop, and the doors buzzed as they pulled open. Clint paused a moment more before heading out. He asked if there was anything Peter wanted to know before he made up his mind.

Parker shrugged, pocketing the paper. "I still don't get what you would need me for."

Men and women began to enter before the last call buzzer rang. Clint moved for the door, keeping his face tucked low. Peter just barely managed to catch his reply as the fallen Avenger headed out onto the platform and vanished.

"This time, I'm the one that needs an eye in the sky."

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please review!


	3. Chapter 2

Any Fans of Mat Fraction's Hawkeye comics out there? this is for you:)

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_Chapter 2_

The fridge offered unsurprisingly few options. He could eat the other half of his breakfast that he didn't finish, which was a three-day old opened Yoplait yogurt cup. Somehow, that didn't seem as appetizing as he thought it would be when he saved it. He also had left over Chinese takeout. Eyeing the on-the-fritz hot plate, he wondered to himself whether the potential burns were worth a hot meal. Apparently, they were not.

He grabbed the Chinese carton, and popped the lid on his chicken fried rice. He had a drawer full of throw away chopsticks that the driver, Max, supplied him with on request. He found even cereal could be consumed with chopsticks, given enough motivation to avoid dishes.

"Arroo rrrrooo." The, now nearly adult, wolf howled. His front paws were braced on the non-functional stove top, as his eyes devoured Clint's cold meal.

"Arrrrrrooooww." Clint howled a little back in tandem. He left his food unattended for a moment to dig the wolf's chow bag out from under the cabinet. Arrow turned in excited circles, whimpering and pawing as he waited impatiently for the big scoop of food in his bowl. It wasn't exactly an easy diet to get a hold of. And if anything meant to give Clint away from his undercover work, then tracking the private purchase orders for his dry canid diet formulated for growing wolves was one way to find him. He took special care with the deliveries, as he did with everything else in his life thus far. A small wolf preserve in Northern Jersey ordered it for him, and he had the packages relabeled and shipped under flamingo feed to the Brooklyn zoo, where he picked it up once per month. Beside the proper diet, Arrow often shared in whatever Clint decided to eat, with the occasional bowls of boiled chicken, ox tail, or other sorts of meats he thought the wolf may enjoy.

As Arrow scarfed his own cold dinner, Clint retreated to his sole chair with the leftover fried rice. At this time of night, he tended to flip on the old 70's television, and attempt to get reception with the darn-near civil war era rabbit ears affixed to the top. Oddly enough, Telemundo came through crystal clear most days. Clint's Spanish has never been better.

Currently, he settled on a fuzzy version of PBS. They were replaying the first season of Dog Cops, and both he and Arrow found incredible delight in stretching out in front of the TV, after a long day of tracking, to watch the hilarity that may ensue. He was disappointed to see the rerun from the night before, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Wow, they said you fell hard, but I guess they didn't see this."

Clint lifted his chopsticks to the newcomer crouched in the open window at his back. "Hey, Spidey."

"You knew it was me?"

"A television reflection of a random guy, crawling through my window at 9 o'clock at night, dressed in blue and red spandex? I think it's a little obvious. Unless you're here to steal the TV."

Peter remained crouched on the window sill, just inside the crumbling fire escape. From the outside of the building, he could tell no one had bothered to make sure this place held a proper code since Reagan was in office. Just breathing on the brick face may condemn him to a lung full of stored asbestos. He wanted a tetanus shot the minute he turned onto Clint's street, and now that he stood in the window looking in he couldn't understand why he decided to come at all. Curiosity got him in trouble more often than not.

"Gonna rain out there in four minutes, you coming in or are you just planning to stay there and fumigate yourself?" Clint asked.

Peter considered it, but slowly stepped in.

"Close the window. Be careful, it's an antique."

The wall crawler rolled his eyes, and slowly edged the sticky window down. Compared to the rest of the place, the stained glass that kept out the rest of the world was the most ornate thing there. A few of the other windows in the building had similar gold and yellow styled gothic glass fixtures, but Clint's was by far the most intricate of them. The inside had been cleaned recently, though not the outside.

Peter turned when he heard the deep throated growl of a strange beast. His spidey sense tingled, alerting him to another, very large, presence, waiting to greet him from the kitchen floor. A massive dog, he could have sworn the thing was a wolf, lay on the floor as it lazily gathered bits of food into its mouth. At Spider-Man's entrance, the interest in eating whatever was in the bowl ceased, and the desire for a walking dinner replaced it.

"Arrow, meet Peter. Peter, meet Arrow. Arrow, do not eat Peter. Peter, do not taunt Arrow." Clint said, not exiting his leather chair.

Arrow, for Peter's sake, seemed to accept his Master's orders, and returned to chowing down his food.

"I'm surprised you showed up." Clint said.

"Surprised myself." Peter replied, taking a route to Clint's right, in order to stand beside him. This placed the chair, and Clint, between himself and the massive wolf. He looked around the sparse room and, guessing it to be safe, removed his mask. There was no use keeping up appearances with someone who knew his identity.

"This you accepting to give me a hand?"

"I guess that all depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not you're crazy."

Spider-Man looked down at the figure in the chair. Clint's leg was hiked up over one arm of the chair as he scooped cold rice in clumps onto a pair of chopsticks. His eyes never left the hazy screen of a low-volume show Peter recognized as Dog Cops. The archer's barely paid him any attention and in fact, he hardly greeted him.

Clint's apartment, itself, resided in the middle of the worst corner, in the darkest part, of Harlem's heart. The exterior was dilapidated brick, painted and repainted the same dungeon grey every twelve years or so. The stove hung open, becoming a storage area for one tall pot and three smaller pans. The cupboards had no doors, and were filled with little more than boxes of cereal and ramen cups. The large fridge had been replaced with two mini ones stacked one on top of the other. The only signs of operating technology included the hot plate and the bunny-eared television.

Clint chuckled at Peter's statement as he scooped some food into his mouth and chewed quietly. His rerun went to a commercial break, and the archer reached forward to flick the channel off. He pointed out a folding chair for Peter, who took it from the corner and set it up across from him.

"Let's back up a second, and let me ask you something." Clint said as Peter settled.

"All right."

"How many SHIELD personnel tailed you after the Metro station?"

"Two."

"I had four. They followed me from Brooklyn, to Lower Manhattan, and into Queens. I shook them off and acquired others along the way, but there are typically four. Two, who were straight SHIELD through and through. The other two, I can't be sure of their loyalties. Most likely, you had one of both. Both worked for SHIELD, one who is loyal to SHIELD, and one who is not. Did the people tailing you interact with each other?"

Peter looked around again. He was trying to find something, but it took him until now to realize what that thing could be. Alcohol. He expected Clint Barton, the famous Hawkeye, had turned into the bumbling drunk TMZ made him out to be. Nowhere in the apartment did he see the trashcan overflowing with bottles or cans. None of the cabinets offered stacks of twelve packs. Either Clint knew he was coming and cleaned up (unlikely with the state of everything else in the place), or he wasn't a drinker at all and this meeting would get very interesting.

"No, they didn't. The only reason I even remember is because I thought it was weird they were on me." Peter had to focus in order to remember. SHIELD usually didn't bother with him, but he knew an agent when he saw them.

"It is possible they anticipated our meeting." Clint mused. He set his food on the floor and left it unattended. Arrow approached, sniffed the edge, and bounded off to his bed in the corner.

"Anticipated it?" Peter asked.

"I worked very hard to keep it under wraps, but possibly they got around even my care. Unlikely. Did they follow you here?" Clint continued to speculate to himself.

Parker shook his head slowly.

"Oh, good. I'll keep an eye out in case I need to move again, but we'll see."

"Is it just me, or did this conversation go from me wondering whether you were crazy or not, to listening in on the most awesome potential spy story ever?"

Clint snickered. "Oh yeah, you're still in high school, right? I keep forgetting about that."

"So is this you admitting that the fall out with Tony Stark was a cover up?" Spider-Man was practically perched on the end of his chair now, vibrating with curiosity. At the slight affirmation from the agent across from him, Peter fought to keep himself under control. Like most teens his age, and despite his own night time antics as a masked crusader, the Avengers were still his heroes. He couldn't pretend that the internationally televised skepticism surrounding Hawkeye's departure didn't affect him.

"Why did you do it? I don't get it! The whole world thinks you're some half-wit bum now. You were an Avenger. Everyone looked up to you. How could anyone just up and throw that away?"

Everyone he met, those that recognized him at least, asked that same question. He never gave straight answers. For everyone's safety, he had to keep his work private. He hadn't checked in to Steve, Tony, or Bruce since he left. No one tried to contact him. There were no scheduled drops waiting for him at the dog park like Natasha arranged. None of the Avengers tried to call his emergency line. He knew little of their health, beyond the reports he intercepted from the SHIELD plants he tailed. It made him wonder, did the Avengers give up on him too?

"I didn't give it up." Clint said after a time. "No one just gives up being a hero. I think you could understand what I mean when I say that. You hide your identity, young kids start looking to you like you're something special. They make costumes from your gear for Halloween. That's not something you can simply stop. I fell on a sword to protect my team. I'm not crazy, I'm just that guy."

As he spoke Peter leaned more and more forward, until both elbows were perched on his knees, and his starry eyed expression emitted the look of a child.

"That is so cool." Peter whispered.

_High school,_ Clint mentally repeated. This may be a larger challenge than he initially surmised. "Very few people know the real reason for my leaving, and even fewer know that I'm actually working a case; a very important one that, so far, is proving to have international ramifications. Now, it's not very often I ask someone else for help. But, there are only a small amount of places I can go and not have some guy recognizing me and asking questions. For that, I need you."

Somewhere in Peter Parker's brain, the little light, that told him an Avenger-class hero asked him for help on a top secret assignment, began to flicker in synchronization with his pupils. So in depth was his excitement, he choked when Clint gave him the chance to accept the assignment. After a few stuttered attempts, he finally managed to gasp out the word: "Yes."

"Good. Wait here." Clint extracted from his chair, and crossed in front of Peter on his way to the sole door leading to, what the guest assumed, was a bedroom. Clint typed in a combination for the makeshift door lock and, after it sprung open, he disappeared inside.

Alone, Parker took the opportunity to acquaint himself with the surroundings again. Perhaps he could get a better idea of just what he'd agreed to do.

Four empty pizza boxes were stacked by the door to match the similar numbered liters of coca cola arranged on top. The hot plate, installed after the stove died no doubt, couldn't possibly be approved for use by the building superintendent. Then again, if the rusted out fire escape was any indication of building upkeep, Hawkeye probably had few visits from the building owner.

The kitchen floor was constructed from two layers of peel-and-stick linoleum tiles. Where the top coat of blue on blue checkered squares chipped away, the bottom layer of green tile revealed its gruesome self to the world. The tile abruptly stopped where the living room began, and there an aged gray hardwood took over. A few similar aged carpets once served to cheer the entry way and the path to the window, but their current state of overuse only lent to the general dilapidation. Like Legos in a child's playroom, Clint's toys sprinkled the floor. Arrow fletches, stuffing from dog toys, nocks, trick tips, and various other archery or canine paraphernalia created landmines with which a bare foot may succumb to instant regret.

While Parker inspected the shaft of an arrow closest to his feet, the wolf, seemingly asleep in the corner, suddenly sprang to life. He'd been so quiet, Peter had actually forgotten about him entirely. The wolf looked toward the front door, and not soon after he roused awake, a heavy hand landed against the door frame.

Peter's jaw dropped a little, meaning to call out for Hawkeye, but remembered the warning about keeping their meeting a secret. His mouth closed, but he looked back at the door. He couldn't answer it, not when he had a Spider-Man costume on from neck to foot.

The fist knocked again, harder and demanding. Whoever found himself attached to the end of it, didn't plan on going away easy. Peter stood from his seat and pulled his mask on. If he had to make a quick getaway, he preferred to have his identity under wraps.

Arrow stood from his bed and crossed to the bedroom door. He hit the knob with a paw and forced the door open. A few moments later, Clint exited. He placed a finger to one ear, switching on something Parker could not see.

A third heavy pound. This time, the door rattled on rusty hinges.

"Should I go?" Peter whispered.

Clint held a hand out to him, listening as he considered the options. With a swift gesture, he indicated the leather chair, as if he wanted the new confidant to crouch behind it. Instead, Spider-Man made a fluid leap and attached himself to the ceiling.

_Wall crawler_, Clint told himself. This was going to take a little getting used to. Before answering the door, he commanded Arrow to stay put and closed the wolf in his bedroom. With the three players in place, he went to the door.

Clint pulled the handle inward as the angry door knocker began a fourth tirade. The action produced a cascade of maroon and gold that didn't end until no less than twenty extra bodies piled into the room. The Avenger found himself off guard by the sheer force of the familiar assailants men.

Tracksuit Draculas.

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Now those unfamiliar with the term "Tracksuit Dracula" will have my explanation in the next chapter. I do differ from Matt Fraction's storyline, but i just couldn't pass up using the name:)


	4. Chapter 3

More Matt Frac!

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Chapter 3

The three weeks, since Clint Barton left the hovel of the Avengers Tower, were not without incidents of any kind. He found himself, in one fell swoop, homeless and penniless. And yet, somehow, he had to find a way to take down a deep seeded underground terrorist organization, of which his own brother was somehow a part of. Appearing like a broken down bum became less difficult when he truly had little to his name beside the clothes on his back, a small duffel pack, and his dog. He felt like the epitome of a country song. In the short time, between his impaling Tony Stark with arrows, and his apartment being invaded by twenty men armed with guns, pipes, and sweaty maroon jogging suits, Clint had made himself a few new enemies. Some friends, but mostly enemies.

Having left with little cash, he found the cheapest, sketchiest apartment in Newark to bed down in for a few days. A few public intoxications later, he made his way to D.C. to follow up on a lead for Blackstone, then returned to Camden to crash a bachelor party and vomit in a punch bowl. After Camden, came Harrisburg Virginia, where he found two shady Level 6 agents he had no trouble identifying as Blackstone sleeper cursory ID checks complete, Clint spent four days in Trenton following a Level 7 agent that didn't pan out. It also gave him a chance to be on international television for sleeping under a park bench and growing a beard. What made news these days, he just couldn't comprehend. After Trenton, he felt he had enough information on a New York based Level 7 agent to stay in-state for a while. He drank in Central Park, skipped out on a few cab fares, and fell asleep under a horse. Talk sufficiently elicited the fact that Clint Barton was a street bum, a no good sewer rat, and New Jersey even dubbed him an unwelcome "shoobie", which, apparently, was the most heinous of his titles. A woman on Jerry Springer called him out for fathering her baby, and he made nightly news with both John Stewart and Colbert – and not for good reasons.

Staying in New York meant seedy apartment shopping. He found just such a base of operation not far from Steve Roger's place on 86th Street. Unfortunately, when he arrived to check the place out, he walked in on an underground casino operated by none other than the Tracksuit Draculas themselves. Barton left an anonymous tip with the NYPD about the proceedings, and after head boss-man got pinched, one of the brighter thugs identified Clint's face, though not his identity, as the culprit. Since that day (and since Clint may have walked away with four plastic bags full of cold hard cash) the guys had been on his case.

In this instance, "on his case" referred to the occasional busting down his door for another round of 'beat-on-the-Hawk'.

Tracksuit Draculas sounded clever at the time he came up with it, and the name had since stuck like a piece of tossed out chewing gum on an August baked pavement. What they lacked in overall vocabulary ("Bro," encompassed their adjectives, verbs, subjects, and occasionally all prepositions as well) and fashion sense, they occasionally made up in brute force. Initially overwhelmed at their numbers flooding through his apartment door, Clint hit the floor beneath their weight.

Peter Parker clung to the ceiling above him wondering what in the world he should do. He knew a stipulation in Clint's repertoire was total secrecy so he doubted jumping into the middle of a full out brawl counted as under cover.

One man at Clint's head went flying into the wall as Hawkeye extracted himself from beneath the pig pile.

"Lights!" He shouted upward.

Spider-Man hit the switch.

Between the flashes of gun powder, the swings of the aluminum bats, and the crash of random furniture, Clint's small room became an all-out war zone. Arrows _thwapped_ across the space. Spider-Man muscled the window open, and soon, the tracksuits were thrown through the opening, one or two at a time. Other members of the apartment complex pressed their ears to their doorways to eavesdrop on the ruckus, but none dared to enter the hall. No doubt they'd become used to the occasional assaults on their private neighbor's place. It took a considerable time, but at long last, Spider-Man and Hawkeye were alone again with a street full of bruised and bloody tracksuits below.

Clint grabbed a bat left behind during the brawl, and slung it out the window as he pulled the sill down and clasped it into place. He turned around to look at Peter, who'd shut the door and flipped the lights back on.

"Um . . . That was interesting." Peter said, pulling off his mask. He dabbed a finger to a bleeding cut beneath his eye.

"Welcome to my world." Hawkeye replied. He pulled up the edge of his shirt to inspect a new hole by his hip.

"Did you get shot?!" Peter exclaimed.

"Lucky shot. It's fine, it went through." Clint replied unconcerned.

"It's not fine, you need a hospital!"

"Arrow?" Clint called, continuing to ignore Peter's worry.

"Would you sit down or something! Should I get a doctor?"

The bedroom door opened and the wolf trotted out.

"No need, I'm fine, really." Clint replied.

Arrow inspected the new shafts of arrows stuck in the walls and ceiling. The television had hit the floor in the scuffle, leaving the screen cracked. Clint seemed more upset about that loss than getting shot in his side. After making his inspection of the arrows, bloody floor, and remnants of Chinese food thrown about the place, the wolf went over to his owner. Clint stroked his nose.

"Mr. Hawkeye?"

The former Avenger looked up to Peter.

Suddenly the man who fought in the dark beside him, who seemed so calm and collected, geeky and young, became very timid. He held his arm across his chest as he took in the depth of the wreckage. The trickling feeling that what Barton brought him in for was very much out of Peter's league came back in spades. His Spidey sense tingled into overdrive.

"What am I doing here?" Peter asked. He opened his hand to indicate the wreckage. "This is just . . . I don't know what I'm even doing. What's really going on here?"

Clint looked down at Arrow. Arrow sat and looked back.

"Do you still want to help me?" Barton asked.

Slowly, more uncertain than before, Peter nodded.

Clint headed across the room, stiffer than he had been before a baseball bat connected with the side of his chest. He braced his hand against the wall and leaned down to pick up the book he'd brought out of the bedroom. He extended his arm toward Peter, offering the book to him.

Peter considered the worn edges and the duck-taped spine. Not knowing what he was getting himself into, he accepted the book and peeled open the thick pages. As his eyes perused the information held within, Clint angled the fold out chair beneath him. He also locked the front door before returning to his own beaten leather chair. A dishrag, that seemed clean enough, served to stifle the blood flowing from his newest hole. He tried to pass off the fact that it felt like someone rammed a red hot poker through his iliac crest.

Peter was grateful for the chair after his feet fell out from under him. He continued to flip pages on the hand-made note book as his brain throbbed through his skull. Everything in his world suddenly began to slow to a screeching halt as he read the manuscript. This couldn't be real. This wasn't true. When Peter looked up at last from his study of the journal, Clint's bleeding had stopped. Hours passed.

Arrow circled the room, chomping down on the arrow shafts to pull them from the floor and walls before dropping them in a pile by the door. Finished with his task, he went back to Clint's feet and flopped down. Clint set the foldout TV stand beside Peter at some point. Now he placed a tall glass of ice water on it.

"Is this true?" Peter asked.

"All of it." Clint said.

Peter reached for the glass, grateful for the offering.

"SHIELD? HYDRA? Is this what you've been working on? All this time? Is this why you left?"

"That's why I left." Clint admitted.

The high school hero closed the book in his hand and set it on the TV tray. His eyes did the asking for Barton not to disappoint. So, Clint launched into his tale in more detail, skipping the more intense notes to protect Peter's involvement.

"We decided as a team, after some difficult choices and long missions, that one of us needed to look into SHIELD. I'm the natural choice for that mission since I've been with the organization longest. It didn't take long for me to find the link that you just read."

"HYDRA?"

Clint nodded. "SHIELD's been infected for a while. It's extensive. At first, all we knew about was Blackstone. Apparently, that is a single faction, a research and development core, of the greater HYDRA network. And this . . ." he indicated the book "Is a very small part of what I have uncovered. No one in SHIELD can be trusted, not until I clear them personally. Do you understand, now, why I asked if you were tailed?"

Peter agreed.

"Everyone that may be associated with heroes, anyone I could reach out to in the tri-state area, including you, the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and even those little gifted kids institute are being watched by SHIELD. They call it surveillance. I call it research. The Blackstone Initiative; they've assessed all potential, current, and future opposition to their control, and have spent their time amassing ways to neutralize that risk. Or at least, that's my assumption. I haven't proved it yet. Low level agents, like those in that folder you have, are going to lead me to my proof."

Peter kept the notebook closed in his hands. He looked almost helplessly at Clint. "But how can I help? I'm happy you have the kind of faith in me to share all this, but I'm a little ashamed to admit this is out of my league. I'm not an Avenger. I don't do secret agencies, international intrigue, or all that stuff. I mean, I have a biology test in the morning I haven't even studied for, and I promised to bring home milk for my Aunt."

"I know that." Clint pulled the dishrag from his side. It was saturated through already, but he didn't feel like getting up to retrieve a different one. He folded the rag again, and wedged it into his waist band. He saw Peter's eyes on him, but the hero failed to comment again on Clint's condition. He knew the same lack of alarm would silence him. The archer sighed as he sank against the leather, Arrow pressed against his feet.

"I don't want you involved. I'll land them myself, trust me. If I need more help, I will call in for bigger back up. I need someone to keep their distance, stay under the radar, and take some pictures of those agents I've shown you."

"That's it?"

Clint nodded.

Peter considered the role. He knew there were certain things he couldn't do, and to make Clint understand that, he had to lay down some terms. Placing the water to the side, he slowly got to his feet.

"I can't leave the city." Peter said first.

"I understand."

"I still have my own work to do, but I can look into this on the side."

"OK."

"I'll need some info on the people I'm supposed to tail. Can I take this?" he held up the booklet Clint gave him to flip through.

The ex-Avenger placed a hand on Arrow, and motioned to him. In response to the private request, the wolf clambered to his feet and trotted into the next room. A few moments later, he returned with a small plastic parcel and passed it over to Spider-Man.

"I don't want anyone catching you with that book. It could prove very bad. Those are disposable copies. If you get into a jamb, eat them."

Peter looked less than enthused at that potential prospect.

"It won't taste like chocolate, I can promise you that."

Peter smirked a little. He returned the book to Clint and tucked the pictures into his shirt. "I guess this is us working together, huh?"

"Temporarily."

"Can I be an Avenger?"

"You have to ask Steve about that."

Peter grinned, pulled his mask over his face, and, as quickly as he'd come, he left again.

With the room left in peace at last, and the random assault of Tracksuit Draculas beaten into submission for now, Clint's shoulders hunched. He extended his feet out in front of him as he wiped his hand along his pant leg to remove the dried blood. Peter was right. He should get to a doctor. That may end up on the local news, though. So, to protect himself, he'd have to use a pseudonym. Clint's eyes fell onto Arrow. Arrow stared back, unblinking. Beside the packet for Peter, he had apparently decided to bring Clint his wallet, leash, and holo projector. According to Arrow, Clint was leaving the apartment and the wolf was going with him.

"All right, you win. Pick yourself an alter ego. You get to hang out with the Smith kids till I get back."

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	5. Chapter 4

_A/N: So sorry for the long time before the update! I just returned to my home-away-from-home for the next 5 months of classes and its been a big move._

_Thank you for all the reviews!_

**Chapter 4**

Walking into the bedroom, after her flight from Atlantic City, came with a well of mixed emotions. Half of Pepper Potts wished she'd had Clint tailed farther than the train station he'd rushed off to. The rest of her was glad she hadn't. Clint's behavior toward her became equal parts confusing and bitter in her mouth. They had been friends, once, and what it took for that to change, she may never understand. In the back of her mind, she went over their conversations again and again. She started at the most recent, and slowly worked her way backward. She skipped the difficult early morning between them, and went to their last meeting. They had spoken over dinner the night before he walked out on them. Clint was unusually chatty that night.

_Pepper planned to head for Princeton the next morning with Bruce to visit the apartment she helped him locate. He'd done some aesthetic improvements to it since she'd last been by, though he knew little of Feng Shui. She intended to give it a sprucing up while he showed her around, while at the same time assisting him in some syllabus work for his class and ironing out a teaching contract with the school that gave him the freedom to continue his Stark and Avengers work._

_Clint wanted to know all about it. He had yet to see Banner's new place, having been out with Steve and in Egypt at the time Pepper and Bruce went real-estate hunting. With the Tower vacant to none but each other, Clint took up residence at the kitchen island and watched Pepper reheat a couple bowls of old pot roast. She remembered the gleam in his crystal blue eyes trained on her with a brotherly affection as he shot out questions to her. "What color is the wall paper? Is it a Hulk-sized bed or just a Bruce-sized one? Did it have a zen garden, marijuana garden, or a pet cat?"_

_She laughed as she split the pot roast between them. Neither looked at the meal with interested stomachs, but it was the best they felt like doing. The cast for Clint's broken arm still hampered the movements in his dominant hand, so he ate with the left one instead. She had signed her name to it right above his wrist, adding a smiley face at the end._

_He seemed like his old self, despite what his brother had done to him. After being tortured for days by his only living flesh and blood, Clint had been rescued by Steve, Tony, and his own ingenuity. When she spoke to him after the rescue, he wanted her to think everything was fine, but she knew better. When she had finally gotten her arms around his neck in an embrace, she could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders collapsing him into her. She had seen him at low points, the whole team in fact, but this was one of his absolute lowest. Not half an hour later, she watched him disappear into a hospital where he held the hand of his old mentor as the man died_.

_Pepper knew he needed time. Time to think, time alone, time to reason out what his life had boiled down to. But sitting at that island together, sharing a subpar meal, and discussing how the Hulk would look in a shredded suit and tie, pulled the shade of wellness over her eyes. How had she missed the pain he hid? Why did he shove it down so deep, create a rift so wide, that even their friendship couldn't span it again?_

Pepper pulled the hair tie out of her blond locks, releasing the tight pony tail she'd spent the entire flight making tighter and tighter. She thought the tension had been the cause of her headache, but even with the release, she felt the twinge in her temple pulse harder.

"Why did you go?"

Pepper started at Tony's accusative tone blasting at her from the doorway. The last thing she needed was to look at him, a person she partly blamed for the confusing breakup.

"Jeez, Tony, you scared me! What are you talking about?" She questioned. He always played coy, why couldn't she?

Tony held the remote control to the flat screen in one hand. He pressed a button, and six news stations came on simultaneously, each stacked in their own box lined up with three on the top and three on the bottom. Each one, including BBC America, was running the same story with streaming video. One of the SHIELD agents Pepper brought along must have recorded her exchange with Hawkeye that morning. Seeing the video made Pepper realize how altered Clint had become. He must have lost twenty pounds, perhaps thirty. His face was stretched and gaunt, slightly burned from lying in the sun and frost. The news channels poured over the heated exchange between them, dissecting Barton's every toxic accusation until the unanimous decision was made: Hawkeye was finished as a hero

"Why did you go?" Tony repeated, his face flushed in anger. He muted the screens and let the remote fall onto the side table

"Why?!" Pepper exclaimed. "Because he's our friend! He is your friend, Tony, and you're just sitting there while he completely throws his life away! Don't you even care- "

"Of course I care!" Tony shouted. His body was tense, madder than she'd seen him since the moment he called out the Mandarin for nearly murdering Happy. Iron Man stepped toward her, motioning to the wall of public opinion judging Hawkeye's very life. "How can I not care? That's the whole reason I'm doing this! That I agreed to this! If I didn't care, I'd be out there trying to hunt him down, drag him back, but my hands are tied! He wants this, so I'm not going to stop him, and you shouldn't just throw yourself in harm's way by going out there like that!"

Pepper's eyes widened more and more the longer Tony yelled. Was this happening? Did Tony know more about Clint leaving than the Avengers wanted to admit to her?

"Secrets?" Her voice came out calmer than she thought possible, given the circumstances.

Tony stopped yelling. He stopped moving. Like a doe encountering the barrel of a hunter, he froze.

"I thought we promised no more secrets? Wasn't that what you said when you gave me this?" She lifted her left hand, considering the handpicked diamond engagement ring affixed on her finger.

"Pepper, I didn't mean-"

"Because from where I sat, I thought no more secrets meant we were actually going to share things with each other. For once, I thought you could actually change!"

"Pepper!"

She crossed over to the closet they shared and snatched a piece of luggage from the rack inside. This, she flung onto the bed between them like a warning.

"I'm sleeping alone tonight. You better find yourself a bed because I don't even want to see you out on the couch right now."

Tony looked down at the bag, and then back up to the woman he'd grown to love. He opened his mouth, perhaps to protest at first but after some thought, decided against it.

"Don't find him again." He said, taking the case.

Pepper didn't answer him. She sat behind her bureau, staring at her own reflection in the mirror as Tony wordlessly packed a few essentials behind her. He didn't take much, as much a surprise to her as it surely was to him. He slunk silently through the door, leaving the tension, tumult, and anger of their fight thick in the air like a humid storm.

Pepper's gaze unfocussed on her own face to the photos taped around her mirror. Mostly, they were Tony and her at events, fundraisers, dressed to the nines and as glamorous as a Hollywood couple. Few contained their raw moments together; her in bare feet and a short t-shirt on with Tony's face pressing through her hair, a dinner party with tidily winks at Steve Roger's place for his house warming, and one photo of Clint Barton, taken in secret. He sat on a park bench with his one knee under his chin. Somewhere outside the frame, Arrow romped across the grass, chasing Natasha. There wasn't anything particularly special about the picture besides the glow she saw in Clint then. He wasn't Hawkeye as he sat there, or an Avenger, or even a SHIELD agent; he looked like a normal man. One who hadn't had his life uprooted by orphanages and betrayal, by loss and anger. He didn't even face the camera, instead his focus remained where Natasha ran.

Pepper pulled the photo from her mirror and gazed into it like she may find an answer to all her questions there. Then she saw the reflection on the news reels in her mirror with the condemning caption:

**"Did he ever matter?"**

**:(:):(:):**

The room had a vacant feeling now, not unlike the time the team thought Barton had died on their watch. Clint's bed remained little more than a box spring, just the way he liked it, with his sheet and thin blanket folded up, courtesy of the maid. His SHIELD gear was stuffed into his bottom dresser drawer. Arrows, fletches, and bow remained in the top. Nowadays, it seemed he had no use for them. As Tony stood in Clint's room, he wondered the same thing that the whole world did. What happened to Hawkeye?

His phone chimed in his pocket. After debating on whether he would let it ring or answer it, he compromised by looking at the number. Banner.

"Doc. How's back-to-school season?" Tony asked.

"That was months ago, and today is Thanksgiving. Tony, how did she find him?"

"I've learned to stop asking."

"Is it sunny out?"

Tony cast a glance around him. The words were their code, to see if the location was secure enough to talk about their private matters without SHIELD or Blackstone overhearing.

"I'm standing in Barton's room. From where I sit, it looks awful cloudy."

Clint had a considerable amount of SHIELD tech, regardless of quitting his job before leaving the Avengers. Tony had no doubt speaking privately in there would have detrimental ramifications. He picked up his small travel case and walked to the elevator. They were notorious speakeasies, especially after his modifications. Once settled inside, Tony gave him the go ahead.

"I'm starting to like this plan less and less." Banner admitted. "I know it was my idea, I know I forced him to take the first step, and it was my suggestion that made him take the second. Did you see him?"

"Yeah, I saw him."

"Tony, he looks like someone starved him!"

"I know."

"Do you think they're onto him?"

"If they were, he wouldn't have been under a park bench in the open."

"Pepper didn't make it easy for him."

Tony nodded, though Bruce couldn't see him. "No, she didn't. Which reminds me, I'm inviting myself over. Maybe indefinitely."

"She kick you out?"

"I think she realizes there is a reason Clint did what he did and we aren't trying to stop him."

Bruce considered that. "Are we going to have to go find him? Or at least pretend to? I don't want to be selfish here, but I don't think the Hulk would understand if I forced an encounter between the two of us just for show."

"I'm not going after him either." Tony declared. "I did my part."

"Send him a message drop, see what he thinks. You can do it on your way here. Tell him to expect our call tomorrow morning."

"Is his phone on then?"

"I kept a calendar. It coincides with my morning meditation, so no one is the wiser."

Tony had to hand it to Bruce, the guy was taking this situation in a much more collected fashion than he was. Agreeing to the terms, Tony finally selected the garage from the elevator menu. They had some decisions to make. Taking the drive by himself all the way through Manhattan to Princeton would do him good.

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	6. Chapter 5

faster update this time!

Chapter 5

Despite overcoming a lifelong aversion to doctors, hospitals, and needles, Clint still preferred to have his life free from all three. With a bullet hole in his side that deserved mending, he found himself faced with little options besides going to the local Rite Aid for some home remedies, or sucking up his distaste and going to the doctor. Given his estimated two-pint blood loss, he decided the latter to be the wisest move.

As much as he would have liked to bring Arrow along, he knew full well that the wolf in his service uniform would be a dead giveaway. Considering his recent press media storm, he was positive that the entire world would want to know why he showed up at a New York ER the night of his big Pepper Potts blowout. Shot, no less. That just wouldn't do.

With Arrow masquerading as a Belgian Malinois, Clint dropped him off at the family four doors down from him. They had three children under the age of twelve that Arrow probably loved more than their own mother did. In a neighborhood like the one he chose to settle in, a guard dog was better than a loaded gun. No one wanted to get bit by angry massive jaws.

He considered taking a taxi to Cedars Sinai, but his corded phone had been ripped from the wall during the scuffle. He could use one of his disposable phones to hail one down, but that didn't sound particularly appealing either. His base of operations was still off of SHIELD's radar, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. That meant walking a few dozen blocks until he felt secure enough to call a cab. At that point, he might as well just take a bus.

After the internal debate, just inside the front door of the shabby apartment complex, he at last settled on taking the bus all the way to Sinai. If he thought better of it, he should have inconvenienced Spider-Man into web-slinging him to the front door, but he didn't want to scare the kid. Nothing said "this is a great plan and you should help me" like getting shot during a mission debrief. He doubted it would inspire much confidence in the kid.

He packed his side full of gauze, and tied a ripped towel around his waist to at least get him going in the right direction without passing out. He had assumed one of his new pseudonyms, a Mr. Carlisle Test, according to Arrow's suggestion. It took him a few minutes to memorize his new life story before he reached the septa line. By the time he passed out on the third seat in, he had assumed a totally new identity.

The woman holding her baby in the seat beside him poked his arm as they arrived in the hospital parking lot. He'd struck up a conversation with her, about his great uncle's nephew's brother who he was visiting at Sinai that day, with a geeky enough smile to solidify her companionship should he lose consciousness from blood loss. Fortunately for him, the contingency plan paid off. He just made it into the hospital parking lot before the bus driver pulled away.

For a while, all Clint could do was sit on the glass enclosed bench a few hundred yards from the hospital entrance. He didn't realize how exhausting it would be to walk around in the dead of night, catch a bus, and try not to bleed to death all at the same time. It took him half an hour of standing, an hour of shuffling, and three hours of paperwork before a nurse finally realized he had the potential side effect of sudden death if left to his own devices much longer.

Three blood transfusions later, he felt like a perfect vampire walking. As he suspected, nothing major was wrong with him, and it took a few locals and a steady handed surgeon to get him back into fighting (or at least walking) shape. The staff decided to monitor him for the next forty eight hours. Clint disappeared within four.

This time, he took a cab.

Feeling slightly better with the added oxygenation in his system, Clint found himself surprisingly alert enough to see the telltale symbol left on the side of Rick and Toni's Pizzaria on West 86th Street. An X, written in white chalk against the side of the building, denoted that someone on the Avengers team needed to get a hold of Clint – urgently.

Well, fancy that!

Tapping the glass with his knuckle, Clint instructed the cab driver to turn around and head for the center city dog park. No doubt by now there was a parcel hidden under the Y-shaped oak for him to see. He couldn't imagine what the team needed to speak to him about, but he found it interesting they waited this long to get in touch. When they arrived at the park, Clint instructed his wary driver to take a hike. If he needed someone to take him the rest of the leg home, he most certainly did not plan on it being him.

Clint ducked his head from the majority of the park goers. Arrow and he had been a regular fixture at the place for the last few months. It was possible someone may recognize him, even now with all the alterations his body had taken to fit the new role of New York sewer rat. Fortunately, if anyone did recognize him, they moved away very quickly. After all, Clint had a new kind of reputation around town.

It took him half an hour of circling the park to feel secure enough to go for the package. Fortunately for him, it was small; only a single sheet of copy paper. He recognized Stark's handwriting:

_Got a problem. Need to talk. Tomorrow._

The letter was just descriptive enough. Tomorrow he meant to turn his emergency line on for the two hours spanning 4 and 6 am. Most likely, that is when Tony would call.

What could have come up on their end this soon? Clint wondered. Had Natasha and Steve discovered something? Did Tony think that Blackstone was onto him? From the little the note shared, he couldn't rightly say. So, with misgivings clouding his mind, Clint hailed down another taxi as he chewed down Tony's note like a pack of old gum.

:(:):(:):

Clint heard the generic ringtone buzz from his side table drawer. His head felt as if some giant had placed his thumb down onto his forehead and proceeded to squish until there was nothing left of his brains. He'd been prescribed Hydrocodone for the gunshot wound's pain, and he had regretted it since taking a dose before he climbed into bed. Pain medication never exactly agreed with him. For that matter, neither did pain. After spending an hour and a half vomiting up the one tablet he'd taken (_a gross overreaction_, he constantly told his body) the archer attempted to get a few minutes of sleep. That lasted precisely forty-five seconds.

Clint launched into his cover the minute he clicked answer on his phone. "Mr. Green's Office of General Podiatry, thank you for calling. Office hours are between – "

_"It's Tony."_

"I know." Clint replied tiredly. He rolled onto the futon, allowing his bare chest to face the ceiling. The pillow served to prop the phone against his cheek while his dominant hand probed the dressings beneath his drawstring pants.

_"Are you all right? You sound like – "_

"I got shot yesterday, Tony. I'm fine though."

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them. On the other side of the connection, Stark shared a desperate glance with Bruce Banner. Both sat huddled around the cell phone in the bathroom of Bruce's apartment. The best of their technology had deemed the room clear of scanners, and with the shower running, even hearing Clint's voice became difficult.

"Tony?" Clint asked. "I said I'm fine. What's wrong on your end?"

_"Clint?"_ Bruce introduced himself.

"Banner, nice surprise. How's class?"

_"Clint, we're having some doubts about this. The fact that you just said you got shot kind of inspires that more."_

Clint's eyes expanded in surprise. Even as tired and sick as he felt, the apprehension in their voices was enough to catch him short.

"Seriously?"

_"No, I just miss you and wanted to chat."_ Tony put in, sarcastically.

"Frankly, I find that more believable under the circum—stances." Clint cut off the end of his reply with an unwilling grumble in the back of his throat. It became probable that the pain medication was planning a third return trip.

_"Are you all right?"_

"Shot, but fine. Look, this line probably won't be secure for long. I should really go. No, I'm not pulling myself off this case because, yes, I am getting somewhere."

Another shared glance passed Bruce and Tony, but this time it was Stark who spoke first.

_"Have you found the connection between Blackstone and Hydra?"_

"I can't say that, not even over this line."

_"It's been almost three months, Clint."_

Surprised, he leaned up and looked over at the calender on the wall. "No it hasn't. It's been a couple weeks."

_"No, it's November."_

"September."

_"Change your calendar. It is definitely November, Clint. When are you coming back?"_

"When I have enough evidence to support what I found." He continued to scowl at the cartoon image of Thor professing the month of September on his wall. He'd found month keeper in a trash can. It didn't even have the proper year.

_"Can I help?"_

"No." He said, giving up on mentally berating the previous month. He leaned back onto the mattress again.

Tony stifled a disgruntled groan as Bruce attempted a new tactic with their cryptic spy friend.

_"I'm sorry Pepper got to you."_ He started with. _"We didn't realize how close she was."_

Clint took his time forming a response to that. He stared up at the low hanging tiles of his drop ceiling. There were precisely forty eight of them hanging up there, not counting the three missing ones in the left corner. He'd pulled them out on day one due to the massive water leak from his upstairs neighbor in 3B. They threatened to mold. No doubt, since then, the lung-killing fungus had already taken hold of the walls.

_"Clint?"_

The ex-Avenger allowed himself to zone out. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want the Avengers knowing just what sort of Hell he'd circled into chasing down the information they all desperately needed. The world hated him, they expected that, but the further he dove into the Blackstone circle, the more he realized his friends could not be trusted. Frankly, at this point, no one in SHIELD save Natasha and Phil passed his clear-cut test of allies. Losing his faith in the organization that helped him become a man was a difficult pill to swallow.

_"Clint, talk to me."_

He still stalled. He hated seeing Pepper like that. He hated sending her away without a single explanation, but worse than that, he hated having to worry that the moment he turned his back, some SHIELD sniper would put a bullet in her.

_"Come on, Hawk, just – "_

"It's not her fault." Clint finally answered. He slowly rose out of bed, swinging his legs to the side to plant his feet on the floor. From his bed in the corner, Arrow lifted his head. "I'll apologize when I can. And I have someone helping me. I can't tell you who or how we met. Just trust me on this, guys. This thing we've found . . . it's deep. Deeper than we could have ever imagined. And it's bad, like a cancer."

Clint eyes fell against the wall across from him. There, a spiral of red string circled the small thumb tacks he'd carefully placed everywhere. Like a massive worm hole, the string spiraled from one corner to the other, closer and closer to the absolute center where a single unknown name, the head of the entire organization, remained in obscurity. The level 7 agents were going to lead Clint to that person. He just needed some evidence. Photographs or meetings, handshakes, and secret drops at random locations. The large sharpie question marks stared back at him like the joker in a deck of cards.

"I wish I could say more. I want you to help, I do, but give me just a little more time first. Something is happening on the inside. I'll get in touch when I can, OK?"

Tony leaned his head against the bathroom mirror. Bruce stood with his arms folded across his chest and a disgruntled scowl graced his face. They didn't necessarily agree, but what could they do?

_"Stay safe. Did you get your bullet wound looked at? Are you eating anything?"_ Bruce asked.

"Yes, mom." Pop tarts and candy corn counted as eating.

_"Don't screw up."_ Tony added.

"I won't." Clint said.

_"Because if you screw up, you can't apologize, and I'm not doing it for you."_

Clint smiled. "I won't screw up."

_"Besides, I need your help planning this wedding crap."_

"Ok, Tony."

_"We'll talk later."_

"Ok."

For a time, no one spoke, and the dead airspace hung around them in a heavy reminder of the distance they'd placed between their lives. Neither wanted to be the first to end the connection on the other.

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Oh...the cute:)

please review!


	7. Chapter 6

Another fast update! I actually am growing to love this chapter. special thanks to icanheartthedrums for helping me expand this!

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Chapter 6

December

Thanksgiving came and went. His first Level Eight crawled from the woodwork, jumping out of a photograph Peter took on the 5th of December. Clint had to leave New York, traveling by light rail to D.C., where the bitter ice of winter had him bedding down in a cardboard box across the street from the NSA's underground offices. While Peter continued to follow the names on the list, Clint spent his Christmas tailing Agent Bernard Shaw.

Shaw turned out to be a social butterfly, invited to fifteen separate societal serenades for the holiday season. Clint found it easy to blend into the crowd at the more high profile gatherings where the name list included no less than one hundred SHIELD, NSA, and CIA celebrities and their entourage. All of his prior years as an undercover agent came back in spades as he transformed from the recognizable Clint Barton to the faceless multitudes of secret identities he adopted. From MI6 operative, to Black Water Analyst, to Secret Service liaison, Clint became everyone and again no one. At the smaller, intimate gatherings Clint found himself out in the cold.

Literally.

With his shoes buried in the rising drifts of a white Christmas Eve, Clint stared into the warm hovel of Agent Shaw working the room with the beautiful Agent Bobbi Morse in his grasp. Watching their joy, their unbridled, unrelenting ecstasy reminded Clint of a life he'd willingly left behind.

He thought about Bobbi. How they'd been married once years ago and how he was positive none of the other Avengers (except perhaps Natasha) knew of that. She looked just as ravishing now in her floor length white gown as she had the day he said, "I Do". He didn't expect that she joined the other side but just seeing her with another brought back a strange possessiveness he hadn't felt for her in a long time. He suppose, though, it wasn't really Bobbi he cared about. He'd lost his feelings for her a long time ago. Maybe . . . instead his heart tugged back to a fiery red headed Russian. He imagined she'd forgotten about him by now.

But Stark Tower, the unofficial base of all Avengers activity, hadn't disavowed him. While the Christmas tree went up the same as always and Tony overcame Pepper's state of anger, and Thor transported Asgardian presents beneath the bows of the tinseled tree limbs a silence fell over the team.

Bruce, deciding to provide a perfectly deep fried turkey for the occasion, looked to his left to ask Clint whether to douse the bird in rosemary or thyme. But Clint wasn't there.

Pepper wanted to nail the mistletoe against the metal strutted archway that separated the common room from the hallway. Clint had done it last year with a trick arrow. This time, she couldn't ask him.

Rogers sneaked into Tony's private bathroom to plastic wrap the toilet seat since the year prior Clint introduced him to the Christmas tradition of epically pranking good friends. Their first time involved adding blue dye to Natasha's shampoo bottle. This year Tony would be the victim. But Clint wasn't there to keep watch for him.

Thor sat in front of the massive television, watching something that the Midgardians referred to as the "yule log". A bottle of Asgardian wine sat on the table in front of him. It had been a gift from Fandral for both Thor and Barton. In honor of his comrade, he set out a second glass on the table, leaving it half filled. The cheerful tunes of the festive burning log took on a somber quality as he slowly nursed down the liquid.

Natasha felt . . . nothing. As she sat back and observed the subtle tells of her companions going through the motions of a Clint-less holiday, she warred within herself to develop some kind of feeling. Had she not loved Barton? Didn't she still love him? Weren't their days of partnership spent in silent glances, and secret conversations no others could interpret? She knew where this originated. Her in-depth training, the brainwashing of a life run by the Red Room initiative, tore away whatever kinship she may have held for Barton. How desperately she wanted to feel those emotions that came so easily when they walked among the gardens of Alfheimr together, or awoke in each other's arms in the bedroom of Asgard's palace. But this was earth, and to save her mind from shattering, her walls rose and slammed her heart into an impenetrable vice leaving nothing but a husk behind. Not feeling became the worst prison, the worst absence, she could imagine.

While Bruce cooked, Thor drank, Rogers sneaked away, Pepper bemoaned the mistletoe, and Natasha starred into the vast unknown, Tony Stark stole away down the hall. He offered no excuse for his sudden disappearance, he would have felt like a child admitting it to anyone but himself. As the door to the elevator closed behind him, he pulled out his disposable cell. Could he even get a hold of Clint at this tonight? On Christmas of all times?

He hit a random floor number, pulled the emergency stop, and sat in the quiet of the elevator car debating whether to place the call or not. Finally he pressed send.

"_You have reached 555-4320. The person you have called has a voicemail box that is not set up yet. Please hang up and try again."_

Anything digital was dangerous for Barton, that included having a working voicemail. Tony hung up and tried again. Still, no one answered. In the silence of the elevator car, Tony leaned back against the wall and wondered where in the world his best friend had gone.

January

Barton missed New Year, forgetting the change from old months to new in the wake of all he'd been working on. His New Year he spent in the closet of Bernard Shaw's upper bedroom with a listening device enhancing his auricular implant. He heard the countdown of the ball dropping in New York and he wondered whether or not the Avengers decided to attend the festivities. He even went so far as to pull out his junk phone. He considered the blank screen, wondering whether or not he should—

"Hail HYDRA!"

Clint's thoughts were interrupted by the brazen declaration by one party goer. The resounding agreement by all the other guests caused him to rethink every single person in attendance. This would be a long night.

A Level 9 SHIELD turncoat attended the same New Year's Eve celebration as Agent Shaw. Also in attendance were three new Level 7 agents, and a Level 6 Clint recognized from his New York work. He followed the Level 9's via stolen car for twenty-three days, eventually returning to New York on the 31st of January. In the meantime, his entire month had more jogging through back alleys, sleeping in cardboard boxes, avoiding random muggings, and encounters with a disgruntled public than any month prior. A group of Avenger's diehard fans recognized him on the street. They followed him for nearly twelve blocks before Clint shook them off. He'd been called every name under the horrifying section of the urban dictionary. Typically words didn't bother him, persistence, however, wore him down.

The ball-dropping night may have found Barton stuffed in an airless closet, but the Avengers enjoyed the little luxuries of a city bent more toward festivities and less to mass murder. Together, huddled around the covered pool of the Avengers Tower they watched the bursting colors of midnight illuminate the sky. The city thrummed with new life. Men and women declared love to each other beneath the exploding rockets, confetti, and falling stars. Tony leaned over and planted a kiss against his fiancé's lips, their fight now long forgotten with time. Natasha looked down at her fingers, the first wall of emotion keeping Clint and her apart slowly crumbled down.

February

A short month. Clint met Peter four times, each involving an exchange. New agents for old photographs. The web of HYDRA factions began to expand. Clint's clarity on the extent of the infection grew, from simple infiltration to full blown invasion. More Level 9 agents made themselves known in the hot bed of a West 20th street barbershop. A second SHIELD outpost, staffed by a known Level 6 HYDRA agent, became alive with activity. More tech went in than what came out. Agents Clint couldn't place, mostly new recruits, filed in daily. HYDRA had kicked into overdrive. Something serious was about to happen.

He had little time to think and even less to remember the team for which all of this work revolved. But, as Valentine's Day came around in the New Year, Clint finally emerged from the hole of hiding his face in the sand.

He headed near Steve's place on 86th Street in order to pass by the old pizzeria wall where all their communications started. Today, like most days he was able to check it. But, like most days, nothing existed there. No small white X waited for him on the edge of the "For Rent" sign. No hidden messages tucked behind the third trashcan in and nothing waited for him buried under the tree in the park.

While standing and staring at the sign blowing in the breeze, a body collided with his shoulder. Clint tipped somewhat off balance before recovering and turning swiftly in place. A short, hoodie-wearing girl took off in the opposite direction, her red hair flying free as she walked. He knew that body, those curves, and the tiny sashay to her steps. The hood turned slightly as she inclined her head back. Their eyes met for the briefest second.

Natasha "Black Widow" Romanoff. Happy Valentines.

Barton quirked up a corner of his mouth. Maybe she didn't forget him after all.

In a fit of uncharacteristic adoration, Barton decided that for once in his time away, he would leave a note for Natasha instead. He grabbed a piece of stone from the chipping brick and used the natural chalk to lay a cross for her on the wall. He chucked the brick down the alley and headed off in the opposite direction.

He had another few billion dollars left over from robbing the Tracksuit Dracula gang and could afford to spend a little on the girl he left behind. He tended to carry nearly three thousand bucks on him at a time (along with a passport, a fake driver's license, and a gun) meaning he had money to burn. He wanted something for her to show off. Something that told the world that at least one person hadn't yet given up on him. And he knew exactly how to do that.

When Natasha saw the mark on the wall and headed to the park to check what may be hidden for her under the Y-tree Arrow loved to get stuck in, she'd find the little red felt box Clint carefully picked out for her. Sitting inside, a swiftly written note rested on top of the silver arrow necklace. It read:

_"Don't give up on me."_

_ -CB_

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_thanks for reading! please review!  
_


	8. Chapter 7

And here we go again! Thank you all for the great reviews! the more you write the more i know how to improve it all:)

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Chapter 7

_March 4th_

Being a spy sometimes involved doing the most remedial tasks for hours, or days, on end. Stakeouts were hardly as glamorous as the local cinematic experience made them out to be. With a suitable partner at his side, Clint didn't mind them so much. Sitting alone on the edge of a mason outcropping, as wide as his forearm, for six hours created a slew of disgruntled thoughts. Why did he waste his time? What was he even doing forty stories up? Did he already miss his target? Should he move to a different position and risk being spotted? Was Peter's information even accurate? Should he have trusted the kid to make this judgment call? All of these questions plagued him as he spied through the two open windows of the hotel across the street and two buildings down.

Parker kept true to his word, and followed the men on Clint's list. As a human spider, the kid had the opportunity to get into locations that Clint could only dream of, which was precisely the reason the archer recruited him in the first place. What Parker returned with in the first week amounted to a virtual gold mine of new information. He felt confident in his partnership with the kid, though he did find Peter to be more impulsive than was good for him. He wanted to do more, which Clint could understand to some degree. But only Barton understood the true danger associated with these agents and he was not willing to put Parker in the midst of that.

Clint was right. Blackstone's other factions were beginning to converge. Agents, he had initially cleared as true SHIELD loyalists, suddenly popped up in the most surprising places. He'd discovered another three divisions, White Hall, Red Water, and Green Room. White Hall handled the logistical side of the organization, and included the majority of the higher agents from Level 9 and up. Red Water, unsurprisingly, comprised the hit squad. All SHIELD-trained Operations personnel, with the ability to take out another agent and think nothing of it, worked in Red Water. The Green Room worked on cash flow, siphoning funds from specific SHIELD accounts firms into un-scrutinized off shore accounts, in one of the greatest embezzling schemes Clint had ever seen.

The careful web he'd constructed in the infancy of his investigation had blossomed into an intricate organization, with heads of divisions going straight up the SHIELD hierarchy until hitting the Level 10 agents. Director Fury himself held a Level 10 security clearance, and nothing existed over his careful eye. Clint had yet to find that Level 10 he knew headed the HYDRA crew, but he had zero doubts about one existing.

Tonight, he aimed to prove just that.

A meeting looked to be taking place with many of the Level 9's from White Hall. Peter sent him a text of three agents, an astronomical number for this time of day, all collected outside the Preston Building only a block from Stark Tower. Peter wanted to know whether he should keep an eye on them and see if a Level 10 showed, but Clint decided to take up the case himself. Given the area, the likelihood of getting spotted in a red and blue Spider Man costume was extreme. He'd rather take the risk himself, and spare Peter if at all possible. Very soon, Clint knew his mission into the wild unknown would come to a close. Before that happened, he had to nail at least one of the heads of HYDRA's infiltration group.

He lay along the rocky outcrop, stuffed between two gargoyles with a grey and black sheet camouflaging him from view of those below. He held a 50x Pelican telescope with a forty-dollar Fuji-film Fine Pix digital camera piggybacked against it with duct tape and a gorilla stand. The duality created a crystal clear image, right through the windows and into the room he was staking out.

If the bribed hotel bell hop could be trusted, then at any moment, Agents Frame, Robson, and Lustrader should appear. He couldn't imagine why the three would meet on so secret of terms, unless they had information to communicate to a higher official. Clint just had to be patient and hope that his hunch panned out.

The door opened.

His fingers were stiff from cold, as the unusually warm Indian Summer took a dip for the March it should have been all along. His gloves felt stiff with frost and disuse. Grabbing them with his teeth, he pulled them off, one at a time, and attempted to rub a little warmth back into fingers. His sharp eyes focused on the 4"x4" screen he hid beneath the cover of his camo.

Agent Robson entered first. He was a tall man, with a lean face and sharp cheekbones that dove harshly into the creases beside his small nose. His small pink lips barely covered the two overgrown canines on either side of his mouth. The Vampire became his nick name long before he joined SHIELD's ranks.

Robson propped the door open with one arm, extending his other to shake the frost from the top of his beaver skin hat. A woman ducked through the doorway next, a surprise to Barton. His mind went wild, scanning through faces in SHIELD's records. He knew of some Level 10 agents, but most likely not all of them. Even fewer were women, which cut down his mental research considerably. With a start, his heart lurched at the thought that this mystery person may be Agent Maria Hill. But then she turned, and he knew her instantly.

Yolanda Towns joined SHIELD the same day Fury did. As thick as thieves, Fury and Towns cleaned up the organization left in disorder by Howard Stark's murder. Together, they built SHIELD into the foremost defense company in the country. She handled the international trade laws, the coordination between agencies, she even oversaw recruitment. The perfect sleeper soldier, in it from the start, and, because of her reputation, beyond suspicion. For the first time, Clint looked at the woman with unclouded eyes, and could only wonder to himself whether Yolanda Towns had been cut from the same Black Widow cloth that made Natasha so deadly herself. Towns had the power and influence to destroy everything SHIELD stood for with one phone call.

Clint cursed to himself. He knew his research was taking him higher in the chain, but somehow he still held onto the notion that the HYDRA infection remained contained; that only a few small groups existed, and for that reason, they could be easily removed like an unwanted growth.

This. Changed. Everything.

Robson allowed the door to swing shut as he crossed to the center of the room. He shook himself free of his jacket as he walked, offering to take Agent Town's as well. She held out a hand, shooing him away. Robson submissively complied. The archer depressed the capture button on his camera, stilling the moment for all time. He reached a hand down into his breast pocket and extracted a second data card. He may just run out of photo space if this meeting went on for a considerable amount of time.

Towns approached the window, staring out into the city around her. For a brief moment Clint feared she would pull the blinds. Her hand reached out, pausing on the cord for a fleeting moment, but commotion behind her pulled her attention away. The door burst inward. Clint's excitement compounded as a second shocking participant entered the field of view.

Agent Grant Ward.

Clint's string of curses continued. He snapped away, catching every exchange between the leader of the White Hall faction and, what Clint could only assume, was a Level 7 from Red Water. He knew from firsthand experience Ward had no reservations about murdering fellow agents. In some ways, this made sense. Why wouldn't Ward be involved? Clint always had an off feeling about him since his brief time in the SHIELD Operations Academy before Coulson put him on active duty. Only months ago, Ward had attempted kill him off.

"Hell, Coulson, you've got a fox on your team." Clint whispered to himself as he watched.

Ward crossed his arms, beckoning someone inside as Robson moved to prop open the door. An Agent, Clint didn't recognize, walked in first, shouldering the dead weight of a man slung between him and Agent Frame. Clive Burkett, a Level 6 Operations agent and member of Red Water, rounded out the group, and walked in behind Frame and the nameless agent. Burkett shut the door, sliding the hotel lock into place. The nameless agent left the unconscious man to Frame as he grabbed the desk chair and dragged it into the center of the room. The unconscious man fell into it as Ward pitched a roll of duct tape to his fellow Red Water agents.

"No." Clint whispered.

His heart slammed against his breast bone. He grabbed the end of his Pelican telescope and focused in closer on the face of the unconscious man.

"No!"

Towns indicated the pot of coffee by the small kitchenette. Robson grabbed the handle, carried it over, and dropped the entire contents on the man's face.

"No!" Clint cried, slamming his hand into the concrete ledge. They were so careful. They took every precaution he could think of. There was no way HYDRA knew about Parker, none!

The brown hair flattened under the cascade of boiled water. The head tossed up and back as a silent scream escaped his lips.

Clint couldn't doubt the truth.

Peter Parker had been captured by the enemy.

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cliffy! hahahahahahaha!


	9. Chapter 8

I LOVED everything you reviewed about the last chapter! Thank you sooooo very much:)

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Chapter 8

He should have brought Arrow. A little back up at a time like this would do wonders for his morale. He fought withing himself against the overwhelming need to document the events taking place vs. helping to rescue the one person he entrusted. He had to get Parker out of there, but at the same time, the minute Ward recognized Clint, he would know something was up. The outside chance remained that, even though they'd taken Peter into custody, they didn't recognize him outright as Spider Man. If that was the case, Clint had some kind of wiggle room.

If they had, he was officially screwed.

The familiar pull of his Asgardian bow tingled across his fingertips like an electric current. His bow had a mind of its own, nearly as tuned into his emotion as Arrow could be. A gift from Odin Allfather for Clint's work at saving Thor from the clutches of Loki and for his ability to wield Mjlonir, the Asgardian bow could appear and disappear into thin air. Keeping it around was never a problem. For a moment, Clint considered calling it to his hand, knowing full well that every Avenger would be alerted to its appearance. They would come running, summoned by the emergency beacon that the specialized Asgardian weaponry gave off. Clint still refused to expose his operation. So for now, he resisted the bow's attempts to appear in his hand.

Clint crested his small ledge back onto the main building roof, dragging his camera equipment behind him. He'd have to dump the rig for now, come back later, and hope it hadn't walked off. He removed the memory card and slipped it into his pocket for good measure.

Not willing to risk a ballistics match to his traditional handgun of choice, Clint had instead packed seven other options, all with a varying caliber just to confuse anyone attempting to find a match. He stocked the clips with incendiary bullets, mounted two different colored laser scopes, and, as he walked, fed a round into his stolen Dave Tooley custom .300WM rifle. Reaching the edge of the building's roof, he set up the two-point kick stand and squinted through the scope to check on the progress of the interrogation.

Ward handed over Peter's camera. No doubt he must have caught the kid tailing one of their agents. Clint was sure he told the boy to head home for the night. How long had he been ignoring Clint's advice? Someone must have hit Peter in the face. A new trail of blood flowed in two perfect lines down his chin, and soaked the white collar of his school gym shirt.

Clint steadied his hand, removed his trigger glove, and unclipped the safety. He had two, maybe three, opportunities to thin out the room before the entire place scattered like rats from a sewer fire. Agent Frame glanced back at the window, suddenly itchy with the fact that the entire world could look in and witness the man bleeding and tied to a chair in their midst. He moved to pull the drapes.

Now or never.

Clint didn't want to resort to killing anyone in the room. With their names and files already filling from surveillance operations, he hated to destroy his contacts before he fully exploited their usefulness. Frame was one such stepping stone. Barton shot him in the thigh.

The Dave Tooley custom had the kick of a mule. Clint's shoulder jarred as the rifle slammed into his arm, but he jammed another round into the chamber, and took aim, regardless of the pain. At first, all eyes fell on Frame. Blood splattered the circular hole the bullet punched through the window, and after a moment of hobbling on one leg, the agent fell over backward.

The unknown agent walked over for a closer view. Big mistake. Clint shot him in the left shoulder, chambered in another round, and fired through his right hand. The agent flailed in place, collapsing sideways into Ward's arms, who unceremoniously tossed him to the floor. Ward's gun was in his hand, eyes searching through the open window for the position of the assassin. Robson grabbed Towns and threw her to the ground in an attempt to protect her from the gunfire.

Clint had less than ten seconds to move before Ward identified his position. Ditching the rifle, the archer took his most familiar weapon, his folding SHIELD bow, and tapped the controls by his fingers to manipulate his arrow tips. Settling on a repelling arrow, he directed the shaft to the side of the building across from him, and let the arrow fly. It cemented to the wall just above the window and, as the moon ducked behind the clouds, he leaped into the open air. The sudden swathe of black coated his entrance like a veil. With gun drawn, Clint began to fire before he even breached the window, ensuring that, this time when he swung off a building, he didn't crash feet first into a solid pane of glass. Time could teach him tricks, too.

The agents ducked again with the onslaught of the gunfire. Ward took a knee, aiming his SHIELD issued sidearm for the form sailing through the glass at him. He emptied his first clip before Clint ever stepped foot in the apartment, but didn't manage to land a single shot. Clint pleased himself with the idea that the once golden-boy's aim must have been in the dumps ever since HYDRA called him up to be the errand boy.

The second Clint hit the floor; he took out the overhead light. Burkett swung his muzzle in Clint's direction, but the archer hit him first with a chop at his throat. Burkett doubled over, right into the top of a knee. As he recoiled backward, Clint grabbed him by the arm and swung him toward Ward. Ward recovered, having slid a second clip into his side arm. He pushed Burkett aside and charged Clint's position. The muzzle exploded in flashes of red, Clint dropped behind the couch and, before Ward was on him, grabbed the leg of an end table and Louisville Slugger-ed it into Ward's side. A rush of air evacuated the man's lungs. Clint crushed him with a follow up snap kick to the ribs, and then slammed the heel of his foot into the back of Ward's head. He'd be a liar if he said it wasn't worthy retribution for all the Hell Grant Ward put him through. Watching the HYDRA agent slam his face off the tile was exactly the kind of cheering up Clint needed in life.

Burkett came back swinging the business end of a bowie knife. Barton dodged the first few swipes long enough to pull his laser-sight derringer. He left Burkett with two .38 rounds in his left foot, and an extra one in the flesh of his bicep.

Robson next. He tried to get the lights turned on, but Clint sent another round into the desk lamp he went for. Robson turned the business end of Clint's favorite HK P30 toward him and pulled the trigger. Clint barely avoided the line of bullets. He grabbed the empty coffee pot and hurled it toward Robson. As the man covered his face to prevent the shattering glass from embedding in his eyeballs, Clint came at him with fist and knee flying. Robson hit the wall under the first assault and came back with a right hook while Clint's knee found his gut. Barton dodged the flying fist. Clint brought a foot up between Robson's legs, ground an elbow into the soft part of his throat and sent a heal into his knee. Robson collapsed and didn't get back up.

_Ward. Burkett. Robson. Unknown. Frame. All agents accounted for, all agents down. One high rank remaining._ Clint went over the body count mentally as he scanned the room. With the overhead blown out and the moon doing a disappearing act, he found it difficult to decipher between shadows and people. The front door blew inward with the force of considerable muscle slamming into it from the outside. Towns hadn't left and now, more agents were breaking in. Clint had to get Peter out immediately.

Stealing the bowie knife from Burkett's screaming form on the floor, Clint rushed to Parker.

"Who are you?" Peter demanded, fighting his own way free.

"A friend, now shut up and high-tail it, kid!" Clint whispered back.

"I don't have my—"

Clint freed his hands, grabbed Peter by the shoulder, and all but lifted him clear out of his chair.

"No time for that! Window, now!"

The door slammed again on its hinges. They had less than a minute to get to the window before the entire place would be flooded with HYDRA's Red Water cronies. Peter seized his bag as they ran for safety. He shoved his camera into the bottom and fished for something amongst the contents.

Clint grabbed the repelling line he shot into the side of the building and dropped it into Peter's hands. The kid had more experience launching his way through town than Clint did. No doubt he'd find good use for the proffered rope swing.

"What about you?!" Peter panicked.

"What do you think? Shove over, I'm coming too!"

As Peter offered the tail end of the rope for Clint to secure around his waist, the door again crashed inward on its hinges. The only barrier remaining, between Red Water and the two, relied on the single faux gold chain lock. On the floor across from them, the moonlight peaked out to reveal Ward struggling to his feet.

They had to move!

In the chaos, Clint lost track of Agent Towns. He had planned to leave her unscathed. He needed her alive to keep tabs on HYDRA's future movements, but life had a way of destroying even his best intentions.

A sharp pain thrust into him from behind, and suddenly Clint found himself pitching backward into the room, rather than forward out the window. Peter caught himself short in their leap to safety as the muffled cry of Barton cut him to the core.

"No!" Peter screamed.

Clint turned, pressing a hand against the handle of the blade shoving out of his back. Agent Towns stood there, her words dripping in hate and venom as she spat into his shadow covered face.

"**Who the Hell do you think you are**?" She seethed.

He couldn't just stand there and bleed. As it is, he risked plenty just breaching the window. One DNA sample, and the jig was up. Every HYDRA agent would know how far Clint Barton had come to identifying their entire organization. She seemed to know it, too. Towns didn't get to be a Level 10 agent on nothing but her good looks. She rushed him again, her black belts in Jiu Jitsu and Aikido working without thought, to send her hands after that blade she'd fed into his flesh. But Clint stepped away from her, through the rushing air of the city waiting just a broken pane of glass away. Even before his rope was fully secure, he fell, down, down, down the floors of the hotel as Peter sailed through the air beside him.

He'd done the hard part. He'd rescued Spider-Man from a room full of hostiles, and gotten him free and clear with hardly more than a scratch . . . besides the pot of boiling coffee water poured over his face and the pistol whip. Now, it was Parker's opportunity to return the favor. As the ground flew up to greet him, Clint felt the rope pull taught. Air blew out of his lungs, and the entire world fell under a haze of black.

He felt like the world floated around him and, for a brief moment, everything seemed completely weightless. Then, inexplicably, gravity returned with a G-force rivaling the top speed of a quinjet. Clint's entire body folded inward at the base of the swing, and blossomed out at the next upstroke. Another weightless moment, the feeling of being suspended in reality, the archer focused on these two peculiar sensations as the screaming ache of the knife blade jarred across his spine.

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clifffy clifffffffyyyy cliffffyyyyyy :):)

please review!


	10. Chapter 9

so few reviews last chapter:(

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Chapter 9

Getting stabbed two centimeters from your spine, was about as comfortable as getting woken up three hours after escaping the hospital that treated you for getting stabbed in the spine. Clint made a mental note to start keeping tabs on how often Tony and Banner decided to check in, hours after he finished his hospital runs. Apparently, they had some psychic link to every emergency room in a fifty-eight mile radius.

Clint slapped a hand around his side table drawer, attempting to figure out which of his seventeen cell phones decided to be the likely culprit. Discovering one at last, he hit the send button and crushed his face against the side of his pillow.

"Gino's Pizza and Restaurant, we are now closed for service but if you – "

_"It's Banner."_

"Thank God." Clint groaned, sandwiching the phone between his ear and his flimsy pillow. Arrow slept by his futon on the floor, in the perfect position to separate him from Peter Parker who, for some reason, found himself snoring on the round rope carpet.

_"I told you I'd check in today. Everything going all right?"_

Clint looked again at Peter's unconscious form, trying to determine whether or not he was hallucinating. Despite his many attempts to think back, he couldn't remember seeing Banner's mark on the pizzeria wall. then again, he had been busy lately.

"There's some strange guy sleeping on my rug, and I got stabbed in the back last night. Besides that, I'm great."

The phone went quiet for so long, Clint nearly assumed Bruce had hung up.

_"That's it, you're coming back."_ Roger's voice came as a surprise to him.

"Thanks for the sentiment, but I'm not. I had a major break last night."

_"Why didn't you just call us?"_ Tony, this time. How many of them did they fit in Bruce's shower?

"Because I didn't have time between firing rounds from my sniper rifle, and sailing through plate glass windows. Forgive me, guys, but I was a spy way before you were."

_"I beg to differ."_ Rogers, of course, pointed out.

"To that, I have a few choice words. _Star Spangled Man With A Plan_."

After a pause, muffled laughter, and something being thrown, Steve said, _"That's not fair."_

"Of course it's fair. I'm working on two hours of sleep, one of which I spent writhing in pain, and the second you are waking me up from. I'm close. I'm getting in touch with Fury in a few days, and I'm going to blow this thing wide open. Now will you give me a little peace and quiet? You didn't call for two weeks, now, all of a sudden, I'm on the top of your to-do list?"

_"Clint, the last time we spoke was the day after Thanksgiving. It's almost March."_

Spider-Man caught half a snore in his mouth, choked, and rolled over with his arms draped over the wolf's back. Arrow rolled his eyes up at Clint, as if begging to be rescued. Clint, however, was focused on the flexing, shirtless, cartoon version of Steve Rogers poised over a roasted turkey and tacked to his wall. According to his Avengers calendar, it remained November.

_"Is someone in your room?"_

"Yeah, my hostage. I'm trying to smother him. And my calendar broke, so it's not my fault I don't know the date."

_"Your calendar broke?"_ Banner asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, after November it just stopped giving me new days."

_"Clint, you need a calendar for this year."_

"I didn't have the correct one for last year. Stop judging my life."

Peter snorted louder. Hearing the sound of voices, he slowly came around. His eyes searched blearily up to the futon. He smiled a little dumbly in his pre-awake stupor.

"Look, my prostitute just woke up, I gotta go."

_"Clint—"_

"I'm calling Fury tomorrow. I'll be home after that."

_"Clint!"_

"Get your storage stuff out of my room, too. I need a shower, and Banner's cooking."

_"Wait a min – "_

He hit the end button on his cell and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Almost March . . . How did that happen without him realizing it? Had he really been traveling that much? He'd worked for so long to solidify his leads that he'd lost all track of time since leaving the Avengers. That was all behind him now. The apartment, the research, the hunt for HYDRA . . . he'd found his first Level 10, it was time to hand it over to someone he knew he could trust. He had to get out of this end game before HYDRA caught wind of him, and this was as good a time as any. Especially after last night's escapades.

"Parker." He said, chucking the phone into the trash.

"You made it through the night." Peter replied blearily. He yawned, stretching his gangly arms out above his head.

"I'm good like that." Clint said. He shifted a little to take the pressure off the knife wound. He had to admit how happy he was to find a stiletto switchblade in his back instead of the bowie he initially assumed. The stiletto slipped in, just off his vertebrae and slid into what would have been the artery, vein, nerve combo of his last right rib. However, an old injury from near two years prior ended in the removal of that rib and the triad of flesh with it. Lucky, the doctors called it.

"I thought . . . when you fell I mean, I didn't think you were going to make it." Peter sat up, rubbing his face with the back of a hand. In the rising sunlight peeling through the doorway, he looked just as young as he sometimes acted.

"Yeah, well, I would have come back to life and killed you if that whack job agent managed to take me out."

Peter smiled a little. He knew by now Clint only kidded him.

"You look spry. Getting hit with a revolver doesn't take a pep out of your step?"

The boy shrugged. "Super healing."

"Well stop it, you're making me jealous. And what was with that kidnapping crap? I told you to cut out the minute I showed! What were you thinking hanging around?"

Peter opened his mouth to defend himself but Clint cut him off.

"Never mind. You're immature and you haven't graduated high school yet, that's why. I should have put a leash on you and that's my fault."

Hearing the word "leash" caused Arrow to leap from his dog bed. His tail fanned the air in excitement.

"Not your leash!" The archer shot back. The sudden display of emotion took his energy reserve away and he let his chest collapse into his crappy pillow. With a groan and flick of his hand, he indicated the hero and wolf.

"You go take Arrow for a walk. I need a minute to come to my senses. So shoo."

Arrow threw an incredulous look at Spider Man, which Peter promptly returned. He wasn't bad with dogs, necessarily, but the idea of walking the massive, terrifying wolf that lived in Hawkeye's apartment didn't sit well either. Figuring that he had no other choice, Arrow relented and trotted to the next room for his leash and hologram collar.

:(:):(:):

The city had yet to wake, as the early hours of the morning ceased to rouse the individuals of Harlem. Most of the drug dealers, gang bangers, ballers, and stool sitters retreated to their evening-time residences, while the morning crew had yet to reclaim their positions in the light of day. Until then, Peter and Arrow had the place to themselves.

"What's it like living this way?" Peter asked the wolf. He hardly recognized the beast, who currently resembled a two-hundred pound Malamute.

Arrow considered marking a cluster of trashcans in front of Clint's building. Being addressed made his head turn back to the young hero. One ear cocked to the left, stretched up, and flopped in half with the tilting of his face.

"That's cute." Peter smiled, considering pulling out his cell phone to capture the moment.

"Arrooo." The wolf replied. He sat down beside the cans and flipped his ear up until it erected again.

"That just got even cuter."

The wolf chuffed.

"I thought we were going for a walk. All you want to do is sit here and stare at me."

The wolf considered his face for a while, then tilted his head back to indicate Clint's building. He looked left and right, and eventually settled on watering the trashcans. When his business was finished, he planted himself down beside the can again, and pointed his snout up to Parker. The message he sent was blatantly clear. "Mine."

"Don't look at me like I'm trying to move in." Peter said. As if realizing something suddenly, he rubbed his face with a hand. "I must be going crazy, I'm talking to his dog."

"Woof." Arrow barked lowly.

"Wolf." Peter corrected himself, then stopped again. He pointed a finger toward Arrow. "Wait a minute . . . Hey, did you just answer me? You understood me?"

The Asgardian creature lifted one shoulder, then dropped it.

Peter blinked, scrubbed his eyes, and continued to stare at the wolf. "Did you just shrug at me?"

Inwardly the wolf smiled to himself. He sometimes loved meeting new people, though there were very few his Master trusted with Arrow's secrets. This man knew his form as a wolf, understanding a little more about his intelligence in general must have been acceptable also.

:(:):(:):

Clint sat in the corner of his L-shaped floating desk. His shoulders were tilted back against the wall in an effort to alleviate the pressure from the pillow folded against his back. Two tablets of Aleve, and a ten-minute power nap, gave him just enough energy to get the coffee pot running. With a double shot of black caffeine coursing into his veins, he felt substantiated enough to crawl onto his desk and start sorting through photos.

He'd stressed the importance of Peter using only 35mm photography for all of his stakeouts. He couldn't afford for the kid to be caught with a digital format. It was probably the only thing that saved him when Ward's men grabbed him in the night. That, and the fact that Peter wasn't dressed as Spider-Man at the time. At some point while Clint had his back operated on, Peter must have developed the film roll, including the digital copies he'd discovered in Clint's pocket. The product of that diligence lay in his hands. Various sized photos depicted the moment Ward and Agent Towns met, to just seconds before Clint decided to move in. Looking at all the evidence he'd worked tirelessly to follow, and the calendar which had moved twice in almost seven months, dropped a lead weight in his chest. He never realized just how long he had spent in the dark holes of the world, relying on nothing but Arrow and his own ingenuity. In all that time, the Avengers managed to get in touch with him twice. Had they tried other times, and he had missed the signal? Did they really trust he could do this on his own? Where had the time gone?

He couldn't answer the questions his mind so desperately fought in him. On the wall lay the product of months' worth of hard work and sacrifice. He'd gone the path alone and, so far, undiscovered. He went as far as he should go. He'd uncovered the very thing that the Avengers feared most. Clint's job remained clear from here on out. He must call Fury, turn the investigation over to the Director's hands, and step away. Admitting to himself that, simple reality came as a bitter sweet joy. Not all of living on his own turned out to be a ramshackle bachelor experience. He worked hard to help people; he robbed from a bunch of robbers, and bought a building in Harlem. The bank account, he kept stuffed in the futon's mattress, had never been richer since walking through the door with four billion dollars. He could even pay back Tony for the loan he took out when buying Steve's apartment on 86th street.

It was over. Barton and Arrow were going home.

The front door burst inward. Peter rushed through the dingy living room, and tripped over the landing to Clint's bedroom. He spiraled inside, rebounding off the far wall with a crash. Arrow trotted lazily in after him. With a back paw, he closed the door.

Peter pointed at the wolf. "That thing can talk!"

Clint suppressed the snorting laughter he no doubt would have enjoyed without a knife wound in his back. Instead, he looked over at Arrow, who smugly sat on his bed. The wolf had an expression of genuine guilty pleasure.

"Arrow?"

Two dark eyes met Clint's blues. His tail thumped against the floor.

"Can you talk?"

The wolf remained silent. Playing along, Clint leaned back against his wall and nonchalantly sorted through his pictures again. "Parker, I think you hit your head harder than you care to admit."

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next chapter is the last chapter! EEK!

Please, pretty please, review? :)


	11. Epilogue

yay! tons of reviewers this time! Whoop whoop!

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Epilogue

The top of the spring-action pen offered a resounding click-click-click-click-click in the expanse of the abandoned lab. One carefully manicured thumb nail depressed the pin in rapid succession, like a trigger finger emptying a fully loaded magazine. The owner of the thumb scowled at the black computer screen and the back of the head sitting in front of it. With one sharp-heeled foot, she jabbed the arm of the man.

"What's taking so long?" Agent Towns demanded, kicking a second time for good measure.

The man sighed, apparently having dealt with her tone for a considerable time already. "Fitzsimmons couldn't know the details of where the sample came from, so I had them run it and take off before the results came in. I'm trying to link in those results now. It takes time."

"The Benefactor and the Clairvoyant don't have time. I need to know what the Hell kind of person gets the drop on a top secret meeting, and takes out my best bodyguards with a sniper rifle. Do we have anything on that kid with a camera yet?"

Ward shrugged. "You had me kill the hotel video footage, so no. I didn't run him through facial recognition. No one got a look at what was on his camera either, so who knows what he did, or why our mystery sniper wanted him."

The heel dug in for a third, perfectly placed jab into the same rib abused in the night's attack. "At least I got a sample from him while _some_ men did nothing more than receive a bullet in their arms."

"I didn't get shot."

"No, you as my chief security, allowed a masked man to breach our secret meeting place with a rope and a gun, steal our hostage, and get out with even putting a dent in him. Remind me again of your usefulness to our cause? You're lucky I was there."

The alarm from the digital blood scan interrupted what would have been Grant Ward's dramatic response. Distracted for a time, he entered Agent Town's encryption code, and revealed what became a shock to both of them.

Towns dropped her heels to the floor as her mind literally went blank. Ward's eyes widened as the scope of what they discovered sank in like a fist of lead weights. Slowly, Yolanda exited her chair. Her hand reached for her cell phone as she began to mutter vague instructions.

"I have to call him. This goes above our heads. Seal that file. Don't let Fury find it, whatever you do."

"I knew it." Ward whispered, staring into the moving image that could not return his concern. "I should have taken him out when I had the chance. This was my assignment! I should have killed him."

Agent Towns moved away, putting in her desperate call to the Benefactor. Of all people who should know that HYDRA would soon be outed to the public, it was Charles Bernard Barton. He knew how best to deal with his hard-to-kill brother, Clint.

Barney made it clear to all of HYDRA that Clint retained a special status in the ranks of SHIELD and ex-SHIELD agents. Killing Barton was off limits to HYDRA personnel - all except for the blood brother himself.

But this information came with a load of questions yet unanswered. How long had Clint known about them? Did he plan to go public? Had he already brought Fury in? Did he understand the importance of the new Heli-carrier fleet launch? Had he been in contact with the other Avengers? Barton was taken off their radar two months after leaving the Avengers compound. They maintained a low level surveillance but after months of getting no where, they dropped him as a primary target.

Now they realized the depth of their mistake. Barton slipped beneath their radar and identified Towns as a HYDRA agent. Her cover was blown along with every other agent in the building. This became a screw up unlike any other.

"I'll call Sitwell." Ward muttered, plucking a phone from the cradle beside the computer monitor.

Towns continued to pound numbers, log-in keys, rerouting phone lines, transferred calls, all of it just to get in touch with the Benefactor. He was, as always, meticulous.

"Sitwell? What for? What's he got to do with Hawkeye?" Towns demanded.

"It's not Barton, it's the Captain and Widow. Those two are still on SHIELD payroll. Sitwell can get Fury to take them out of communication range. If Barton's onto us, we can't let him get in contact with the others." Ward explained.

"Sitwell's in the middle of foreign waters, how the Hell are we going to get Rogers and Widow out there at a time like this?"

Ward considered it for a moment, but made up his mind just as quickly. "I guess I'll just have to call in a couple pirates instead."

"He's going to want to launch project Insight." Towns replied, waiting for the connection. "Barton must be taken out before then. He can destroy the entire operation."

Ward cocked an eyebrow at her. "Well, Hail Hydra."

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so I am SURE that was not the ending you were expecting!

Will Clint ever go home? Will his Brother Murder him before then? Will the Avengers ever get to see the Archer again?

These answers and more to come here:

**Untitled**: _Clint Barton has finished his investigation into HYDRA and after seven hard months of undercover work, its time to let someone else in. But Director Fury has other plans. Clint's brother has come out of hiding and as the only one with equal skills to track Barney down, Clint agrees to go on one more SHIELD assignment. But the mission crumbles apart. As a world away project Insight is in full swing and the Winter Soldier is dispatched against the high ranking SHIELD officials, Hawkeye and Arrow must battle their way to Barney's base in the Bavarian Alps._

_Full of danger, loss, other worldly beings, and a trip to Alfheimr. This will answer everyone's questions of where Clint was when SHIELD imploded and who stood behind the scenes, puppeteering the HYDRA overthrow. Who will win? Who will lose? And how will Clint's life change, forever?_

It's the dramatic conclusion of all that hard work Since Avengers 1! Stay tuned!


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